It was something more than just attraction, and I needed to know what it was, even if it was foolish of me to try to find out.
I decided to take a risk.
I put the note in the inside pocket of her coat, and hoped she would find it there in a moment when no one was looking. It was a great gamble to take, and I prayed in my fashion it would do more good than harm in the end.
***
The next day, I arrived at the store to find Mr. Wilson waiting for me out front, his arms crossed and eyes burning with anger. He did not mince words.
“You’re fired.”
“What?” I blurted, dumbfounded. “What did I do?”
“You know what you did.”
“I really don’t, sir, if you’d just tell me,”
“Get out, and don’t come back to the store for anything, either. You’re not welcome on the premises, and if you get within twenty feet of my shop again, I will be after you with my shotgun. Are we clear, boy?”
“Yes, sir…”
He handed me an envelope containing the wages I’d earned. “Now get.”
Once I had moved across the street, I glanced over toward the window, and I saw Marigold, staring at me sadly from the other side.
Damn, someone must have seen her with my note. What an idiot I was to take the chance.
I only hoped my stupidity hadn’t caused her any more physical injury. God, I wanted to march over to the station, grab Sutton, and take a few good swings at him myself. But the man was four inches taller than me, and probably had a hundred more pounds of pure muscle; what the hell was I supposed to do against that?
I had to do something, though, and it involved getting Marigold out of the Sutton house and away from her father.
With nothing to do and nowhere else to go, I headed back to Mr. Best’s.
I found him eating his breakfast, and he looked very surprised to see me.
“Mr. Wainwright, are you ill?”
“Yeah, I feel pretty sick all right, but that’s not why I’m here,” I said, not wanting to prolong the agony. “I got fired.”
Mr. Best sat up taller in his seat. “Why?”
“I wish I knew,” I said, but then I sighed. “I mean, I might know. But there’s no way to be sure.”
A few moments later there was a small sound in the distance; almost like a knock at the back door but not quite.
“Was that…a rock, hitting the window?” Mr. Best asked, standing up.
“I have no idea, sir.”
“Well, I do. Go downstairs and let her in, before she throws too hard and cracks the glass. Silly girl, she should have just knocked.”
“Girl?” I looked out the window and saw Marigold, shivering outside. I ran down the stairs with record speed and hurried to open the door. “God, you’re shaking. Are you all right?”
“No, no, I’m not at all,” she stammered, tears filling her eyes and spilling over. “I’ve been dismissed from Wilson’s, and what’s worse… my father told me to leave the house and not come back.”
“He what?” My hands balled into fists at my side, and I trembled with rage at the idea of Marigold’s reputation being ruined by her own family. I wanted her out of that house, but not like this.
“Come now, you’re freezing, Miss Sutton. Let me fix you a cup of tea.” Mr. Best had followed me and gestured toward the stairs and led us to the kitchen.
I pulled my chair out for Marigold. She slumped into it, taking off her gloves and hat and setting them aside properly. She did not remove her coat.
I was too angry to sit, yet I did so when Mr. Best shot me a look and nodded toward his own seat. “Sit down, Mr. Wainwright.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It seems Mr. Wilson and Mr. Sutton have both had a busy morning,” Best said, filling Marigold’s cup and watching as she lifted it with shaking hands.
She held it but did not drink, taking in the warmth of the beverage though I could tell she had no stomach for it.
“Very,” I replied, leaning in. “Was it my fault, Marigold? Was it the note?”
“No, not your fault for writing it, Mr. Wainwright, I appreciated it very much,” Marigold replied, blinking to try to fight off another wave of tears. “It’s my fault… for not burning it.”
My stomach sank.
“Note?” Mr. Best enquired, folding his arms. “What note?”
“I apologized to Marigold for her father’s anger at her inviting me to lunch, sir. That is all. I swear it.”
“Yes, and I kept it, instead of burning it…and it fell out of my coat pocket when Helen was moving things around on the rack last night.” Finally, she sipped her tea, then set the cup down. “She took it to Father, who immediately accused me of being overly friendly with you. He also blamed the Wilsons, because he had told them to keep an eye on me so I didn’t have anything to do with you.”
“But you didn’t…it was all my fault,” I replied. “Let me go and talk to him, Marigold, please.”
“No!” Both Mr. Best and Marigold replied in unison.
“That’s the worst thing you could do right now, son,” Best added quickly. “I know Samuel Sutton too well. If anything, he will need a good deal of time to cool off and come to his senses. Though I fear in this case he may not…” He stopped.
I knew he understood why Sutton would be glad to be rid of Marigold and my chest ached, just thinking about it. The only one in the room who didn’t understand was poor Marigold.
“I wish I knew what I did wrong,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “From the time I was small, Father always acted like I was bad, like I tried to make trouble on purpose. I swear to you, I never did. Not once.”
“I believe you,” I replied, and Mr. Best nodded.
“Why do you believe me?” Marigold asked, leaning across the table toward me. “Is there a good reason? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
I hesitated.
“We need to think about your immediate needs, Miss Sutton,” Mr. Best kindly interrupted, rescuing us both. “That means a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in, and a way to earn your keep. One of those I can provide, the others I cannot because I am already renting my only spare room to Mr. Wainwright, and besides, it wouldn’t be proper, you both being young and unmarried and renting in the same apartment even if I did have the room.”
“She can take my room,” I said immediately. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”
“Keigan,” Mr. Best said, putting his hand on my shoulder and calling me by my given name for the first time. “You’re a gentleman and very kind to offer. I know you mean well, but it will be much easier for Miss Sutton to find a room to rent in this town than you. You have got to stay where you are, until it’s time for you to go back home.”
I hated it, but I knew he was right.
“Where will I go?” Marigold asked, sounding defeated. “No one will rent me a room, not risking Father’s anger.”
“I know one woman who will,” Mr. Best replied. “The sister of my late wife.”
“Miss Finch?” Marigold’s eyes grew wide. “She never rents. Not to anyone.”
“You’re not just anyone…and she owes me many favors. It is time I called upon her to repay one or two.”
Marigold stared into her teacup. “I would be most indebted to you, Mr. Best.”
“Nonsense. It is nothing. She can give you a safe place to stay, for as long as you need one, and I can give you a job in the jewelry store. You too, Keigan. The holidays are upon us, and I cannot manage the store on my own.”
“Won’t it cause a huge scandal? Employing both of us?”
He shrugged. “Been awhile since I’ve had a good bit of scandal in my life. Might be good for business.” He gave a gentle smile.
“Or bad for it,” Marigold worried. “What if people refuse to shop in your store?”
“Then I guess there won’t be any Christmas Eve marriage proposals or watches given to fathers this year,” he
said with a quick and wider smile. “Because Wilson’s carries neither engagement rings nor pocket watches.”
Suddenly, I was overjoyed. The thought of Marigold being out of Sutton’s house, away from those horrible people, and the chance to work with her in Mr. Best’s store every day for the rest of my time here?
I thought about that… suddenly it felt like I had so little time left.
“I guess I won’t be going to Christmas dinner at your parents’ home this year, Miss Sutton,” Mr. Best said softly.
“I guess I won’t, either,” she answered sadly.
“I was never invited to begin with,” I said, trying to break the tension in the room.
For a second I thought I’d failed miserably. But then, just a hint of a smile curled the edge of her mouth, and I knew at least for the moment, I’d won.
“Then I suppose we will have to make our own Christmas this year,” Mr. Best answered, clapping his hands together before looking at me, and the light in his eyes faded. “One we’ll always remember…no matter what happens afterward.”
My expression fell as well. I knew he was thinking about the book; in truth, so was I.
At some point, Marigold would have to know about it; I just didn’t know if I would have the heart to tell her the truth, or if I should even be the one to do it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A POUNDING at the back door called for our attention.
“Father?” Marigold started to shake, and she rose from her chair, backing toward the corner of the room.
My heart split at the sight; no girl should ever be so terrified of her father. It might be true that my Dad and I didn’t see eye to eye these days, but at least I’d never been afraid of physical harm from him.
Mr. Best parted the curtains in order to be prepared.
“It’s your brother,” he replied, sounding greatly relieved.
He hurried down the back steps to let Sam in out of the cold. Marigold and I followed.
This would be my first interaction with Sam, directly. I’d seen him from a distance but never spoken to him, and he had seemed in no hurry to speak with me when he’d had ample opportunity. My guess was his family told him, as well, to steer clear of the ‘out of town visitor’.
“Come in, Mr. Sutton,” Mr. Best said, and Sam wiped his feet as best he could before just barely stepping inside.
He was holding a small mound of snow to his lip with one hand, and in the other hand he held a single suitcase.
“Oh no, Sam, he didn’t throw you out too?” Marigold asked with anxiety.
“No,” Sam said, wincing in pain from his split lip. “He caught me leaving the house with this for you, though, and gave me something to think about for my trouble.”
“You shouldn’t have, Sam,” Marigold said, reaching up and touching her brother’s cheek.
He shrugged her hand away. “It’s not right, him sending you out into the world with nothing.” He held the suitcase out before her. “I don’t know if I got any of this right, I just grabbed one dress, some…things from your dresser,” he blushed, “shoes, and a few items you had left out around your room.”
“So he hasn’t softened and changed his mind about having her back?” Mr. Best asked, growing angrier by the second.
“On the contrary, he is more certain than ever Marigold shouldn’t be a part of the family. Says she is a bad influence on the rest of us.”
“My fault,” I whispered, and groaned. “All my fault. That damned note…”
“Yes, your fault,” Sam moved toward me and looked down upon me, ready and able to inflict bodily harm. He was almost his father’s equal in height, though he was thin as a rail. “I ought to take you outside and give you what you deserve for dishonoring my sister.”
“If offering an apology for the pain she suffered because she was kind to me equals dishonor in this society, then I don’t know how anyone is fit to live in it.” I stood as tall as I could and stared him down. “Fine. Let’s take this outside. Do your worst.”
“Please, no!” Marigold got in between us and pushed Sam back with both hands. “Leave now, Sam. Thank you for what you’ve done, it’s all you could do. Now go home.”
He stared at me a long moment, considering. “All right, Marigold.” He looked at his sister sadly. “Take care of yourself, please. I’ll worry about you.”
The door slammed behind him, and he hurried down the stairs, disappearing into the early morning snowstorm.
Marigold clutched the handle of her suitcase, but neither spoke nor moved.
“I’ll have to close the shop for a few hours,” Mr. Best said suddenly. “Until we get Miss Sutton settled in with my sister-in-law. It’s not that I don’t trust you to mind the place, Mr. Wainwright, I do. But you don’t know where anything is, and I have to teach you where all the keys and things are before you can serve the customers. So we may as well all go together.”
“Maybe it’d be best if he stayed here,” Marigold said suddenly, still trembling.
“Scandal upon scandal if someone sees me with you?” I scoffed, and I instantly felt bad, because clearly it would be.
“No more scandalous than if I am seen taking her over there alone, just the two of us, with me being a widower, as I am,” Mr. Best replied. “Just different gossip for the mill. No, it’s best we three go together. Besides, should my singular sort of charm fail to impress upon Prudence the need to take Miss Sutton in, I will be counting on you, Mr. Wainwright, to persuade her.”
“Prudence?” I gulped.
“Prudence Evangeline Finch,” Best replied. “Never married, lives alone with several cats and many books. She used to be the schoolteacher here, but her health failed. She retired early.”
“I remember Miss Finch,” Marigold said nervously. “I only hope she’s softened a little over the years.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Best warned, then he turned to me. “Get your coat, Mr. Wainwright. We’d best be on our way.”
***
It wasn’t a long walk to Prudence Finch’s modest home, a few blocks away from Mr. Best’s jewelry store at the center of Wishing Cross.
It looked something like a gingerbread house, dressed as it was in newly fallen snow and dark in color beneath. There were no holiday decorations of any kind visible from the outside, and I wondered if Miss Finch, too, had given up on tradition when her sister passed away.
“She won’t be happy to see us,” Best warned.
“Is she ever happy to see anyone?” I asked.
“No.”
“Well, at least it’s nothing personal.”
Mr. Best knocked once, twice, three times.
Finally a shrill voice pierced the thick front door. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Land sakes, a body can only move so fast when it gets to be this age…” she shouted, and she stopped to look out of the curtains before she opened the door. “William, I haven’t seen you in a good while…”
She stared at Marigold a moment but did not address her, and then she looked at me. “You, I’ve never seen before. Who are you and where did you come from?”
“Long story, Miss,” I replied, stopping halfway through my initial ‘ma’am’. I was, after all, trying to get on her good side.
She appeared older than I thought she should for the age Best had assigned to her, but I supposed ill health did that to a person. Illness, and grief tended to age a soul exponentially. I sure felt a lot older than I should after the events of the previous year.
“What do you want?”
“I need to ask a favor of you,” Mr. Best said softly. “May we come in?”
“And track snow all over my floor?”
“Yes, Prudence,” Best replied slowly. “Specifically to track snow across your floor.”
She sighed. “Well, take off your boots first, mind?”
She shooed a pair of curious felines away from the door, which was only open a crack, and then after we’d unlaced our boots, she let us step inside, one by one,
onto a small rug. There we stood while we removed them.
“Leave them there,” she instructed, and so we did.
“What manner of favor are you after, William?” She frowned as she sat in a large wingback chair by the fire. “Sit down, all of you, before you catch your death.”
There were only two other chairs, and so I chose to stand by the mantle instead, my hands politely clasped behind my back.
She went on before Best could reply. “You’re the young Sutton girl, aren’t you? I remember you from grade five, but you have grown, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Miss,” Marigold replied.
“Let me guess,” she turned to Mr. Best now, “Sutton is being Sutton again.”
Marigold’s eyes dropped down and focused on her hands, folded primly in her lap. She looked so ashamed, everything in me wanted to reach out and try, somehow, to comfort her. To convince her everything would be all right. But I couldn’t. Her entire world had crumbled, and I doubted my ability to piece it back together, since I was responsible for shattering it to begin with.
“Yes, he is. And young Miss Marigold needs a place to stay.”
“How long?”
He cleared his throat nervously. “Indefinitely.”
She grumbled. “You know I don’t take on boarders.”
“I know. I also know it’s getting harder for you to do all the things needing to be done around here. I thought you might take on a girl to help you with some of the chores, in exchange for the small guest room.”
She looked at Marigold, then at Mr. Best. The girl suddenly looked up, eyes pleading so even the old woman seemed unable to crush such desperate, fragile hopes.
“What will she do for a job during the days? She’ll need an income.”
“She’ll come to work for me, until something else becomes available.”
“Hmm.” She looked Marigold in the eyes. “Can you cook?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Chicken soup?”
“My grandmother’s recipe,” Marigold replied. “I’m not afraid of hard work, Miss. If you’ll just give me a chance.”
Again, Miss Finch only said, “Hmm.”
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